


The Little Wheel

by HarveyWallbanger



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Gun Kink, Guns, M/M, Object Insertion, The usual lather of compulsion and addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 22:29:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9037517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarveyWallbanger/pseuds/HarveyWallbanger
Summary: For, you see, this gun- it's not for fun.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MillicentCordelia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MillicentCordelia/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, Millicent Cordelia! God bless us, every one!  
> The quote in the summary comes from the play, The Black Rider.  
> I am not involved in the production of Gotham, and this school is not involved in the production of Gotham. No one pays me to do this. Do not try any of this at home. Thank you, and good night.

You catch yourself starting to wonder why he keeps coming here.  
But, with the cloying warmth of the correct guess that's not a guess, at all-  
You know.  
You drag him in, by his arm, by the collar of his shirt, push him into the apartment. He doesn't look like he belongs here, so how does he keep getting past the doorman? You'd say something, but then, someone else would know about Oswald. If you don't talk about him, he may as well not exist. He could actually be dead. Barbara's seen him- but making Barbara believe that she's mistaken is the easiest thing in the world. Her own life is a stranger to her; a vague acquaintance on a good day.  
You peer into the hallway. Doing so makes you look guilty, but you can't help yourself. The hallway's deserted. It feels like no one's ever passed through there. This place is a tomb. You close the door,maneuver him so that his back's against it.  
“I'm sorry,” Oswald gasps, “I had to see you.” He's looking at the gun in your hand. With a sneer, you lay it on the table in the entranceway.  
“What do you want?”  
You don't think he planned this far ahead; he sputters more of what you've already heard, about murders that have occurred, will occur, might occur. Drugs flooding the streets, making people do terrible things. Strange disappearances. Arkham. Mysterious people with far more power than you could imagine.  
But you know.  
You push him, practically pick him up and haul him, up against the wall the by the door, almost into the corner. He lets out a little pearl of sound as the back of his head hits of the wall.  
Now, he knows, too.  
“I think,” and you catch yourself licking your lips- God damn you- you do it again- “you must want me to kill you. Is that what you want?” Your breath's a slip of paper rubbing your throat dry.  
But he says, “Jim,” like this is an affectionate embrace, his head falling back, his lower body tilted toward you.  
If you didn't know before--  
Now, it's undeniable.  
“I know,” you say, because it hurts to make it real, and suddenly, hurting's all you want to do.  
“Jim,” he says again, his gaze soft, almost sad.  
You then know that you can do whatever you want to, with him. You could crush the life out of him, and he'd probably thank you.  
Instead, you kiss him.  
Your mouth has only to brush his, and he exhales a sound like an injured bird-- something between shock and agony.  
“Do you want me?” you ask him.  
He says your name again- it almost makes you laugh- then, “Yes. You know I do. Yes.”  
“All of me?” you ask.  
“Yes,” he breathes, and shows you his throat.  
When you move away, he groans, as though with pain at having to hold himself up.  
You pick up the gun, take out the clip and eject the bullet in the chamber. “All of me.”  
For a moment, he's confused. You stand perfectly still, holding up the gun. You won't move until he tells you. When he realizes what you mean, his eyes widen- you didn't think it was possible for them to be any wider- you imagine that you can see his pupils dilate- he swallows. Then, he nods.  
You kiss him again, running the barrel down his cheek. He trembles, wraps your shirt around his hands and pulls you in close.  
You press the muzzle of the gun against his lower lip. He closes his eyes, kisses it. Opens them. His eyelashes flutter as he opens his mouth. You move it in slowly. You can almost feel the roughness of his tongue on the underside of the barrel. You watch him suck, his hands on your hand, his eyes again closed. His face is flushed. Above his collar, so is his throat. You push aside his collar, and kiss his neck. He makes another sound of distress, and you pull the gun out so that he won't choke. He moans, warbling like a loon, as you lick the place under his jaw where you can feel his heart beating. You place the gun between his legs, line up the barrel with his erection, rub it down the length.  
You kiss him, still touching him with the gun, moving it against him like it has feeling of its own.  
You tell him to turn around. He does. He has to lean forward a little, rest his weight on his hands.   
It won't go in on its own. You know that.  
“Wait,” you say, “like this.”  
He doesn't say anything. His head falls forward a little. You look at him for a second. The flush across the back of his neck. His body rising and falling with his breath.  
You come back, and he's as you left him. He's still breathing heavily.  
You fit your body against his. He trembles against you, leaning into you. You undo his pants. In your hand, he's hot, wet. He moves in your hand. You let him do it like that, and it's like you're not even there. You're like a ghost.  
“Do you want it in you?” you ask.  
“Yes.” It's the gurgle of a drowning man. “Please.”  
You pull his pants down. You slick the gun. The first inch goes in easily, Oswald panting as it does. After that, you have to push. He moans. When you're in up to the trigger, you pull it out slowly. Now, it goes in with greater ease. He starts. He sighs. You fuck him. As though mesmerized, you watch the gun move in and out of his body, pink flesh stretched into an “O” around it. You put your hand on his hip, let it slip inward. His pubic hair brushes your wrist.  
His breath catches in his throat. He says your name. He begs. He begs you. For what's already happening. What you're already giving him. Working himself backwards and forwards; your gun and your hand.  
The sound he makes is terrible,like something being strangled. You're sure you've hurt him. It's like a lamp's been lit in a dark room when you realize that it excites you.  
But you're gentle, as you pull the gun out of him. You help him clean himself up, put himself back together. He looks at you, and you look at him. There's nothing left to do.  
So, you hold him.

There's a body in bed with you. For a strange moment, you're certain that it's a corpse. Then, Barbara groans, shakes her tousled head, and covers her face with a pillow. You don't know when she came home last night, but you were already asleep. Sleeping the sleep of the dead. No dreams clotted your slumber. You wake up feeling just as blank.  
You remember what you did last night. Though, it's so far away that it might as well never have happened.  
Barbara's still asleep when you're ready to go to work. It's like you were there alone, in the apartment. Suddenly, you want to be alone.  
When you come home, she's awake. She's neatly dressed and clear-eyed, as though she'd always been that way. Sometimes, it feels like she's two different people. She's standing by the door. Almost exactly in front of the place on the wall where Oswald ejaculated. Later, you were on your knees, sponging the semen out of the wallpaper.   
“Hi,” she says brightly, and kisses you, “How was your day?”  
You make a noncommittal sound.  
“Out of sorts?” she asks, with a funny little half smile.  
“Yeah. You could say that.”  
“Well, maybe,” she says, and goes to the table by the door, “it's because you left a little piece of yourself behind.” She holds up a bullet. “This doesn't match anything I own, so I assume its yours.”  
“Thanks,” you say. You close your hand around it. You can't look at it.  
You put it in your pocket.


End file.
